


Fighting the Tides

by fuzzballsheltiepants



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst and Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, M/M, Neil's inner drama queen is showing, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-07 02:32:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14070978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzballsheltiepants/pseuds/fuzzballsheltiepants
Summary: Andrew's moving on to his new professional team, and is keeping Neil in the dark.





	Fighting the Tides

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tntwme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tntwme/gifts).



> This came from a prompt from Tumblr user @tntwme and some of the dialogue is hers.

Neil’s numerical analysis homework was demanding he finish it, but he just could not focus on the page.  Then again, he defied anybody to read about the Lebesgue constant for Chebyshev points and not have their eyes crossing.  Idly he wondered why it seemed like all advanced mathematics terminology had such weird names.  Of course if he’d ever thought of Chebyshev as a last name he probably would’ve picked it, at least for a while.    
  
Yawning, he went to the kitchen to brew some coffee, hoping it would help.  Now that he didn’t have practice, courtesy of USC eliminating them in the semifinals the previous week, he had all the time he needed to get his work done.  Which somehow made it harder to actually do it.  He glanced at the clock; it was two in the afternoon, and Andrew should have been back already.  Not that Neil was keeping track of every minute they spent together now.  
  
The coffeemaker finished percolating and he poured himself a cup, grabbing one of Robin’s yogurts as he went back to his desk.  Sighing, he pulled out his pencil and began working the problem.  When he found himself glancing for the thousandth time at the unmoving door he gave up and opened up his laptop.    
  
The first suggestion from his browser was the ESPN exy page, and he clicked on it, swearing to himself that he wouldn’t read the articles bemoaning the collapse of the Foxes.  Then the page loaded with a giant picture of Andrew and the floor dropped out from under him.  
  
**BREAKING NEWS: PORTLAND SIGNS #1 COLLEGE GOALIE**  
The Barracudas have announced that PSU player Andrew Minyard, the highest-rated goalkeeper in the NCAA for three of the past four years, has signed a two-year contract with an option for a third year.  Minyard was a controversial player at Palmetto State, particularly in his first two years, but he has turned into a reliable force in goal.  Along with strikers Kevin Day and Neil Josten, Minyard has been instrumental in propelling the Foxes to the tops of the ranks, including winning the NCAA championship in his second year. An introductory press conference is scheduled for Wednesday 2 p.m. EST/11 a.m. PST.  
  
**See also** :  Minyard’s best college saves  
**Worth the risk?** Watch our exy experts debate  
**Follow** : Where are your favorite college players heading next?  
  
Neil didn’t know how long he stared at the article, trying to make sense of the words, before he heard the door open.  Keys dropped on the table, a bag hit the floor, shoes were kicked off, then quiet footsteps stopped a body’s length behind him.  He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the colors on the screen in front of him.  “When.”  
  
“I agreed to terms last week.  I signed the papers this morning.”  As always there was no inflection in his tone, and Neil knew if he looked he would see careful blankness.  He looked anyway.  No hint of guilt, of sorrow, of anger, of concern.  Nothing.  Just flat hazel eyes, chips of stone, looking back at him.  
  
“Were you ever going to tell me?”  
  
“Consider yourself told.”  
  
Neil wanted to strangle him, so he tucked his fingers between his knees, digging into the soft spots along the inside to keep his voice level.  “Yeah, because I found out on fucking ESPN, Andrew.  Jesus Christ.”  
  
Andrew just looked at him, no flicker in his nonexistent expression, no hint of even anger in his eyes.  Neil slammed his laptop shut and surged to his feet.  “Don’t you have anything to say?”  
  
“What do you propose?”  
  
“I don’t know, something.  Anything.”  
  
Andrew tapped his fingers against his arm.  “The state fish of Oregon is the Chinook salmon.  I don’t know why the team is called the Barracudas.”  
  
“Seriously?”  Neil’s body was aching to move.  He pushed past Andrew, automatically angling so as not to touch him, and forced himself to stop before shoving his feet into his shoes.  “What about us?” he asked with false calm that he knew Andrew would see right through.  
  
He turned to face Andrew, who was silently watching him but had made no move to stop him.  “I know you had offers from Atlanta and Tampa.  We could’ve seen each other on weekends at least.  Portland is basically as far away as you can get from here.  What’s going to happen with this?”  
  
“There is no this.”  
  
And Neil was gone.  
  
He nearly ran over Robin in the hall, ignoring her startled “Hey!”  The thick scent of ozone hit him as he burst through the door, his feet setting themselves into a rhythm across pavement that was splattered with the dark spots of new rain.  
  
Nobody ever understood what running was to him.  It had saved his life more times than he could count, and not just because he was faster than his father’s men.  Running was meditation,  it was a source of peace and a way past his spiraling thoughts.  It had kept him from turning a weapon on himself when he left the black sands of the California coast behind.  If he ran for long enough, he ceased to be Neil Josten, ceased to be Nathaniel or Alex or Stefan, ceased to be anything but a machine of muscle and sinew, powered by a heart-shaped engine.  A machine that could not think or feel, that only knew how to move.  
  
He didn’t pay attention to where he ran or for how long, but he was soaked through with sweat and rain by the time he finally stopped and let himself into the stadium.  The lights were already on, and he followed them almost involuntarily to the inner court.  Kevin was in the middle of the court, racquet in his hand, balls scattered at his feet, working drills with a couple of the underclassmen.  Neil ducked unseen through the locker room and into the lounge.  
  
Rubbing himself dry with a spare towel, he dropped onto the couch he had shared with Kevin and Andrew for most of the past four years.  It was easier now, sitting in the lounge with the lights off, his tangled thoughts smoothed by the miles his feet had traveled.   A thousand memories washed over him, all in this room: of Andrew’s thigh pressing against his, his fingers digging into his wrist, his hand a stabilizing weight on the back of his neck.  Of the first team, Neil’s true family, gathering here after trauma and tragedy, holding each other together hard enough to keep from shattering.  Of him fumbling his way through the early days of his captaincy, Wymack staunch across the room, Andrew steady at his side.    
  
He had always known his family would leave PSU before him, all except Wymack.  Every April felt like the cresting wave of impending doom, but then come May people left and Neil was still afloat, buoyed by familiarity and Wymack and exy.  And Andrew, most of all Andrew.  But now, it was Andrew being pulled away by the incessant tide and Neil wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t drown without that lifeboat.  
  
It was a curious thing, really; he had always kind of assumed that Andrew’s adamant “this is nothing” was more reflex than truth.  Yet Andrew was not a liar, except by omission.  While he clearly wanted this particular nothing, that didn’t mean he needed it, not the way Neil did.  And maybe want was not enough.  Maybe the tide of time was destined to wear inexorably at them, at this; maybe Neil was foolish for fighting it.    
  
He didn’t know how to stop being foolish.  He had held on to so little before coming here — a binder, a duffel, the smell of cigarette smoke and the memory of rough hands and blades on his skin — but now he couldn’t remember how to do anything else.  
  
Voices sounded in the locker room behind him, jarring him out of his maelstrom.  He sank further down into the couch and listened to Kevin’s haughty critique of the underclassmen, gritting his teeth at the harsh words.  One more thing he’d have to fix.  
  
Light flooded the lounge as the door swung open and Kevin strode in, going to the wall and unplugging his phone that was charging there.  He turned, eyes on his screen, and almost didn’t notice Neil huddling there but looked up at the last minute and froze.  “What the hell are you doing sitting here in the dark?”  
  
Neil shrugged.  Kevin glanced at the door, then dropped onto the arm of the couch and waited.  “Andrew signed with Portland.”  
  
“He finally told you?” Kevin shook his head with wry irritation.  “Took him long enough.”  
  
He might as well have punched Neil in the gut; it probably would’ve hurt less.  “You knew?”  
  
“We have the same agent,” Kevin said in explanation.  
  
Neil swallowed hard against the dryness in his throat.  “I didn’t even know he had an agent.”  Kevin started to say something but hesitated, and Neil went on.  “And he didn’t tell me.  It was on ESPN.”  
  
Kevin rubbed a hand up the back of his neck, clearly at a loss.  “I, uh, I thought it was being announced tomorrow.”  As if that would have made a difference.  Neil waved at him in dismissal and with a searching look, Kevin left.  
  
An agent.  A contract.  Andrew was building a whole career without him, a life without him.  Neil knew how easy that could be; but Neil had always been the runner, the rebuilder.  Andrew had always been the wall.    
  
The noise in the locker room had died out when quiet footsteps sounded, then the lights in the lounge flickered on.  A plastic bag that smelled like fried chicken dangled in front of Neil, then Robin appeared and flopped on the couch next to him.  “I brought your phone,” she said, holding it up.  “And dinner.”  
  
“Thanks,” Neil said uncertainly.  
  
“Andrew said not to bother, that you’d be back, but I thought you probably needed more time to sulk.”  
  
“I’m not sulking,” Neil snapped, then softened his tone when Robin’s expression instantly shuttered.  “I’m … reorienting.”  
  
“Well, whatever you want to call it, I figured you’d probably be here for a while.”  They sat in silence while Neil ate, Robin’s knees pulled up to her chest and her eyes on the dark screen of the TV.  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked once he had finished.  
  
“No.”     
  
“Okay.  Coming back to the room?”  
  
“Eventually.”  Maybe by the time summer practice started.  
  
“It’s pouring out, and I have the car.”  She dangled the keys in front of him, but he shook his head.  
  
After Robin left, Neil snagged his phone off the couch cushion and scrolled through his texts.  A few new ones, including an exuberant one from Matt, who was playing in Seattle at the moment.    Nothing from Andrew.  Neil shut the phone off and curled up, pillowing his head in his arms, trying to think his way through a world without Andrew at its core.  
  
*****  
  
“Why the fuck are you sleeping on the couch?”  
  
Neil blinked up at Wymack looming over him.  “I didn’t want to run back in the rain last night.”  
  
“And Andrew wouldn’t come get you?”  Neil didn’t answer, and Wymack shook his head.  “Well, then, I’m guessing that you won’t be surprised to hear that the GM from Portland will be arriving in about an hour.  I suggest you make yourself scarce by then so we can set up the press room.”  
  
When Neil nodded, Wymack disappeared into his office.  According to his phone, he had about forty five minutes before Andrew would leave the dorm, assuming he followed his usual schedule.  Neil debated if he wanted to see him before then, but ended up heading to the dining hall instead.  By the time he returned, the room was empty.  
  
He missed the days of large lecture halls where he could zone out and nobody would notice.  Now he was stuck in small classrooms where participation was required.  It felt more like high school except cursing was allowed and he actually cared about the material.  At least physics lab was engrossing enough to pull his mind away for a couple hours.    
  
It was almost two when he made it back to the dorm.  Nicky caught him in the hallway.  “Neil!  I thought you’d be at the stadium!  Hey, come watch Andrew’s press conference with us!”  Ignoring Neil’s protest he dragged him into his room where everyone who wasn’t in class was clustered around the TV, which at the moment showed empty microphones in front of a Portland background.  
  
“This is going to be hilarious,” Sheena said gleefully.  “Fifty bucks says he doesn’t say a word.”  
  
“Nobody’s taking that bet,” Aaron replied.  “He’s never said jack shit to the press.”  
  
“Twenty bucks says he makes someone cry,” piped up Lizzy.  
  
“Thirty says that someone is Neil,” snickered Jack.  A quiet thud and an “Ow,” followed, and Neil wondered who had hit him.  
  
The betting continued until a man who only looked to be a few years older than Neil appeared in front of the microphones.  He was identified as James Corzett, the Portland general manager.  Corzett gave a generically enthusiastic introduction, then Andrew walked on wearing Portland’s deep blue jersey and his usual blank expression.    
  
The room erupted.  The GM answered question after question, even taking ones that were clearly directed at Andrew.  As the conference dragged on, Neil could see the irritation under Andrew’s mask, but he doubted anyone outside of this room could.  Finally, Susan Haley, one of the local reporters who had been the bane of Neil’s existence for the past four years, called out, “Andrew, it has long been noted that despite your stats, you have been indifferent at best to your career at PSU.  What do you have to say to those who wonder if you will continue your apathetic approach once you have moved on to Portland?”    
  
Corzett started to speak but Andrew lifted a hand in his direction, not taking his eyes off of Susan.  “I’ll take this one,” he said, and Corzett subsided.    
  
“Reports of my indifference have been greatly exaggerated,” he said, and there were snickers through the press room.  “You are all here because of a game, but this is not just a game.”  He looked into the camera, and Neil felt like he was looking straight at him through the screen.  “I chose this, and I continue to choose this.  I will fight to keep this until the day I am specifically told, ’it’s over.’  And this is worth it.  This is worth every bump and bruise, all the pain and fatigue and frustration.  This is worth pushing myself to give more.  This is the most important experience of my entire life, and I have no shame in admitting that.”  
  
Neil’s pulse was pounding in his fingertips.  He counted one, two, three breaths that didn’t make it past his throat and then he moved, shoving past Nicky and Robin and Bryan until he was free, tearing out down the hall, down the stairs, out into the oppressive humidity of a South Carolina spring.  He cut across the grass and around the pond, dodging students until he reached the mostly empty parking lot of the stadium where he ran flat out.  His hands were trembling as he punched in the pass code and he had to take a few deep breaths before he could get the key into the lock.    
  
The conference was wrapping up when Neil reached the doorway to the press room and put his hands on his knees, gasping.  Wymack, hovering just inside, glanced down at him, expression inscrutable.  Andrew was silent while Corzett answered some inane question about his role in the lineup; Neil stared at his back until finally the reporters had had enough.  Then Andrew was dragged in front of the Portland drapery for pictures and Neil chewed on the inside of his lip to keep himself in place.  
  
“Why do I think Andrew wasn’t talking about exy in that little rant of his?”  Wymack asked.  
  
“Maybe because Andrew has never voluntarily talked about exy in his life?” Neil offered.  Wymack snorted and walked away to talk to a reporter.  
  
Neil was so focused on Andrew that he didn’t notice Corzett approaching until he was only a few feet away.  “Neil Josten!” Corzett sounded like a game show host, his voice nearly vibrating from excitement.  He held out his hand and Neil shook it in some confusion.  “So happy to meet you in person, we’ve been tracking you since your first year, you know.  You look like you’re probably going to be the best of next year’s striker class, at least.”  
  
“Thank you.”  Even Neil could hear the question in it and Corzett’s smile widened.  
  
“Yeah, Phil’s knee probably won’t hold up more than another year or two.”  Phil Evans was one of the oldest strikers in the game, and one of the most decorated.  He had been signed by Portland a few years earlier, when his career was already on the downturn.  “We’re going to need a striker, and this class just wasn’t strong in that department.  Well, aside from Day, of course, but we never had a chance at him.”  He laughed.  “So when Andrew insisted that we had to be prepared to make you an offer next year in order for him to sign with us, well, that suited us just fine.”  He clapped Neil on the shoulder.  “Especially since you actually know how to play with the guy.  Just don’t get hurt, okay, Josten?”  With another laugh, he jogged off after Wymack, and Neil blinked dazedly a few times.  
  
When he looked back at Andrew, Andrew was looking straight at him with that look in his eyes.  That look that usually meant a visit to the roof, or Kevin and Robin getting kicked out of the suite.  It was only for a second before he looked back at the camera with his bored mask back on, but it was enough.  
  
*****  
  
They didn’t even make it back to the dorm.  As soon as the press and Corzett left, Andrew pushed Neil back against the lockers, mouth heavy and hands light.  When they finally broke apart, Andrew muttered, “You’re an idiot,” before kissing him again.  Neil laughed against his lips.  
  
“That’s you,” he said, and Andrew pulled back with a glare.  “For thinking that there’s even a possibility of it being over.”  
  
“I don’t know why I bother with you.”  
  
“Yeah, well, you’re stuck with me now.”  
  
“One hundred and seventeen percent.”  
  
Neil pushed away from the lockers and headed towards the showers; Andrew on his heels.  “Yes or no?” Neil asked, as soon as the shower stall was locked behind them.  
  
Andrew’s eyes were almost black, the iris just a golden rim around the pupil.  There was only one reason Neil ever dragged him in here.  “Yes.”    
  
“You look good in blue,” Neil murmured in his ear, before dropping to his knees.    
  
Later that night they were sitting on the couch in their suite, Neil’s feet in Andrew’s lap as he finished working on his equations.  He dropped the notebook on the floor.  “It’s because the plural of salmon is salmon,” he said.  Andrew lowered his book and looked at him.  “That’s why they didn’t pick that as their name.”  
  
“There are some college teams that use bison as their mascot.”  
  
Neil thought about that.  “I guess that shoots down that argument.  Maybe it’s because salmon aren’t aggressive?”  
  
“Well, sure, but barracudas are only found in the Atlantic, they couldn’t have found something intimidating in the Pacific?  It’s a big fucking ocean.”  
  
“True.  Most of them don’t have cool names though.  I mean, would you want to be the Portland Box Jellyfish?  And there’s the plurals problem again.”  
  
Neil could see Andrew fighting not to smile, could hear it in his voice when he asked, “Why didn’t they just go with Chinooks?”  
  
“Because that’s racist.”  
  
Andrew hummed in agreement.  “That takes the Great Whites off the table, I suppose.”  
  
Neil started laughing helplessly, and after a second Andrew joined in.  It was rare, and it was beautiful, and it was theirs, just theirs.  No amount of distance nor the pull of the tides could take it away. 

**Author's Note:**

> For those who don't know, Chinook references a Pacific Coast indigenous people. 
> 
> I know Andrew's joke is...a little inappropriate, but it seemed in character. Please let me know if you think it crosses the line.


End file.
